Emperor of Thorns (The Broken Empire, Book 3)

I leaned forward in my seat, unhurried, the intent listener, then reached out, slow enough, but sure: hesitation is the killer. Then fast. Ripping the crucifix from about her neck. I threw it, hard as hard, tearing it through a flat arc and releasing it to fly straight and true. Tobias caught it. A neat catch between the eyes, one soft, heavy arm of the cross punching through his forehead so that the whole thing hung there as he toppled. Now my knife. To everything there is a season, a time to every purpose under heaven. Memories of Bishop Murillo’s priests sprang up as I dragged the blade through the folds of fat about Pius’s neck. ‘A time to die.’


Pius hit the ground first, then Tobias, then the polearm. Then for the longest time those of us not on the ground dying just stood there looking at each other.





43


‘Captain Devers, I believe I’m about to be attacked on your watch!’ I hollered it at him, thinking it best to pre-empt the matter rather than bring it up as forty or more papal guards started trying to perforate me.

I saw motion among the gold helms back by our carriage. It would take a moment or three for Devers to come to grips with the situation.

‘Oh come on, I just killed the fecking Pope. You are going to attack me, aren’t you?’ I drew Gog and smiled invitingly at the nearest guards. Pantaloons or not, they would prove deadly enough. Multiple polearms against a single sword in open space is not a contest. I started to back around the sedan chair. The bearers scattered. Not pious men it seemed.

Still half-dazed the five guards closest to me levelled their weapons. All along the line the polearms fell in a wave, aiming at me.

‘That man is under my protection!’ Devers found his voice and urged his stallion forward.

Somehow that galvanized the Pope’s men and they surged forward, screaming incoherent rage. Even the bearers thought to join in, reaching for me with over-long, over-muscled arms, though you’d have thought they’d be grateful not to have to carry her any more.

The Gilden Guard rushed in from behind, and I played ‘find the Jorg’, skipping in and out of the sedan chair, threading my way through the bearers, whilst we had ourselves a good old-fashioned slaughter.

It ended too soon. Polearms outreach swords, but if they’re pointed the wrong way the fight will be a short one. They’d been pointed at me. They should have watched the guard.

Gog caught in a man’s spine and had to be hauled out with both hands on the hilt and a foot to the fellow’s chest. Fortunately he was the last of the bearers. I got the blade free, turning just in time for Makin to grab me by the breastplate and slam me into the Pope’s chair.

‘What the hell are you doing?’

Devers came up beside him, sword dripping. ‘You killed the Pope!’ As if I hadn’t noticed.

‘She killed herself when she went after my son.’ I lay back against the sedan’s wooden wall, relaxing in Makin’s grip.

‘You killed the Pope,’ Devers said again, staring down at the blood-soaked mess of her, an armless bearer sprawled across her holy legs.

‘What you need to do, Captain Devers, is have your men load her carcass into this handy box behind me. And whilst they’re doing that, and carting all the other bodies away, you need to get the Lord Commander of the Guard out here.

‘I suspect that when Lord Commander Hemmet considers the fire that will spread from the flame I set burning here, he will wish that it never happened. He will wish that the Gilden Guard had not slaughtered the Pope’s personal detachment of papal soldiers. And he will be very interested to hear that there are no surviving witnesses from Rome. Anything that happens without witnesses never really happened at all.

‘In three days I expect to be crowned emperor and those who have failed to support me will live to regret their lack of discernment. But not for very long.

‘If it turns out that I am not crowned then I’ll be too busy to let it worry me overmuch – I’ll be raising a nine-nation army to march on Roma so that I can burn that den of corruption to the ground. So all in all, if your Lord Commander wants to avoid rivers of blood and making a personal enemy of the next emperor, for the sake of a Pope … he will say that Pius and her guards fell foul of a lichkin. Ship her remains back to Vatican City and be done with it. I can even suggest a replacement …’

Makin let go, allowing me to slide a couple of inches down the wall of the sedan chair, from tiptoes to heel and toe. I hadn’t realized I was nearly off the ground. ‘It will never work. You can’t hush up something like this.’

‘Look around you, Makin.’ I swept an arm. ‘It’s a wasteland. Anyone who counts is in the palace, and none of them will be looking out, I can tell you that for fact. And their servants will be hard at work way over there.’ I waved to the distant mansions. ‘And the good folk of Vyene are hiding in their homes. To some degree because they’re not invited to the party. But mostly because the Gilden Guard are deployed to escort duties leaving no one to protect them, and the dead are on the move.’

‘It doesn’t matter. Someone will know. Someone will talk. There’ll be rumours—’